


Smoky Blue

by Meadow Lion (Meadow_Lion)



Series: Skyline [2]
Category: Sports Night
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Clubbing, Drama & Romance, Episode Related, F/F, F/M, Female Friendship, Female-Centric, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-13
Updated: 2003-08-13
Packaged: 2018-05-14 19:50:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5756089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meadow_Lion/pseuds/Meadow%20Lion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the end of "Dana Get Your Gun" until shortly after the end of "And the Crowd Goes Wild," Dana and Natalie undergo a sea change</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoky Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tis_true](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=tis_true).



> Happy birthday to [](http://tis-true.livejournal.com/profile)[tis_true](http://tis-true.livejournal.com/)!
> 
> [Anna-Maria](http://fourteencandles.livejournal.com) and Kristophine provided invaluable beta comments; [Giuliana](http://antigone921.livejournal.com) gets a Best Supporting Reader nod. Any errors are my fault.

Dana sits at her desk right after the show, looking down the barrel of her musket. The butt of Brown Bess -- and that's a phrase she would like never to use again -- is a cold weight against her knees. She jerks in surprise when she hears Natalie yell her name from somewhere down the hallway.

"Yeah. I'm -- I'm in here," she calls back. She's still staring at the musket as Natalie storms into her office. "Do you think Sam's really planning to leave next week?"

Natalie doesn't answer, and Dana glances up. Natalie's eyebrows lift slightly. She's standing with her arms crossed over the clipboard in front of her chest.

"Is something wrong?" She leans forward, awkwardly clutching the gun when it starts sliding off her lap. "Oh, this is about Jeremy, isn't it? I'm sorry, sweetie. What happened?"

A strange, bitter smile appears on Natalie's face, but she answers in a very calm voice. "Absolutely nothing happened, and this has absolutely nothing to do with He-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named. You want to go to Lot 61 with me? I've got an extra spot on the in-list for a party there, and I really want to get out tonight."

"But nothing hap--"

"Nope, nothing." Natalie points at her. "You seem to have developed a bit of a fascination with that gun there. It's not loaded, is it?"

She makes a face -- her usual half-smiling, _'one of us is missing something, and I'd like to think it's not me'_ face -- because it's easier than saying all that out loud. "No, of course it's not loaded. Why would you even ask that?"

"Never mind. So, do you want to come tonight?" Natalie turns partially toward the door, gesturing with her clipboard.

Dana narrows her eyes and looks at Natalie for a moment. That glance cements the decision. She stands, bending down long enough to return the musket to its former place beneath her desk. "Yes. I certainly do."

"Great. Do you need to change?"

A few buttons and a shimmy later, she has her red blouse off and is down to a mauve, low-cut, strappy shirt that would get her some father-with-a-moat talks from Isaac if she were to wear it uncovered around the office. Her black slacks are comfortable enough, although probably less so than the gray cargo pants Natalie is wearing.

Noticing the rest of Natalie’s current outfit, she smiles. "I'm set, but you might want to get your purse rather than your clipboard. Then we can stop by your apartment so you won't overheat in that turtleneck sweater."

Natalie's expression doesn't change, but she tosses the clipboard onto Dana's desk. She starts to yank her sweater upward. "I could just go without it."

Dana hastily moves to stand between the open door and her friend, who is baring an expanse of pale skin that stretches higher and higher to curves and an edge of indigo-colored satin.

"I don't think that's the best idea," she says brightly. She grabs Natalie's hand and tugs it back downward. "And, if you keep this up, I'm going to stop believing that nothing's wrong."

Natalie releases the hem of her shirt. "Fine. Let's hit my place on the way to the club."

*-*-*

Watching carefully on the subway ride to Natalie's, Dana checks for cracks in the façade, but Natalie just looks determined and waves off any attempts at conversation. Inside her apartment, she leaves her bedroom door open as she yanks off her turtleneck and tosses it aside. Dana looks away until Natalie comes back out of the bedroom, now clad in a dove gray T-shirt that looks softer than any expression Dana's seen on her face all night.

*-*-*

The nearest subway stop is about a half mile away from the club, but Natalie doesn't complain, just starts walking -- a lot more quickly than Dana thinks that someone her height should be able to manage. They're catching up to the line sooner than she'd expected too, although that's just because it stretches over two blocks.

In the glow of a series of oddly old-fashioned street lamps, the crowd awaiting, or at least hoping for, entrance strikes Dana as a rather eclectic group, from tattooed, leather-covered beefcakes to college coeds in pantsuits with flashing rhinestones. One item that bizarrely prevails among them is the feather boa. Maybe it was part of a suggested costume for the party and Natalie didn't know. Frothy snakes in countless hues are draped across so many shoulders that, if Dana just glances at the line for a second, it looks like a feathered dragon in the midst of a Chinese celebration.

Dana turns, smiling, to point out the image to Natalie, and has to stop in the middle of the street to locate her. Natalie's fast pace has taken her almost to the doors of the club -- unmarked by signs beyond the presence of the line -- and she's gesturing wildly back in Dana's direction. Dana runs her tongue over her teeth and dashes to the doorway.

Natalie's fist closes tightly around her arm before she's even caught her breath. The bouncers at the door are poking at their respective clipboards and loudly asking for names, but Natalie drags her forward, probably would have dragged her right through their bulk if Dana hadn't blurted a "Natalie Hurley and guest!" to cover the "Screw you!" directed at them by Natalie. The impassive bouncers let them squeeze through like tiny travelers scraping past rock faces in a mountain pass, which makes Dana think suddenly of hobbits and Jeremy.

A long time has passed since it's been her with Natalie rather than him. Anything she might have said on the subject to Natalie dissipates in the smoke that somehow is _not_ instantly hovering around her face as Natalie keeps tugging her into the club.

It isn't that smoking is prohibited inside. Dana can see little bursts of flame in the intermittent darkness on all sides as other club-goers light up, but a giant fan catches their puffs, swirling the smoke and drawing Dana's gaze upward. Above, deep, jazzy blue lights pulse with the beat of a heavily percussive song, and the smoke creates a mirage of seascapes as it flows across the curves of a cathedral-like vaulted ceiling. Dana curls her fingers down to briefly catch Natalie's hand as well as her attention, and they finally halt their rush to nowhere in the middle of a press of bodies. The overhead fan doesn't help much in the way of heat dissipation, so when movement around them crushes Dana up against Natalie, she feels like she's already been dancing for three hours.

She leans in close to Natalie's ear and hopes that she's screaming loud enough to be heard without causing any permanent nerve damage. "It's hot in here."

Natalie angles her head sideways and raises her eyebrows but doesn't try to say anything in response. Dana blinks then offers her hand in invitation. She figures they'll probably move together for a while before branching off to dance with half-drunk, nicely random and uncomplicated guys.

Natalie plants Dana's hand low on her hip and hauls her in close, so she drops her other hand to the small of Natalie's back. Natalie's eyes are dark and heavy on hers. Dana licks the inside of her lip and holds Natalie's gaze.

They're almost swaying at first, with Natalie rocking into her on waves that match the smoky light above. After a minute, though, there's a grind with every bump together. The music moves a little faster, and they do too. She can feel people nudging against her back sometimes, and she doesn't know, doesn't care whether or not it's on purpose. Natalie is finally looking away, tucking her head against the side of Dana's neck and sliding her hands up to cling tightly behind it.

"Natalie?"

Her mouth is nearly brushing Natalie's ear, and even with the pounding bass overlaying her own voice, she doesn't want to speak too loudly. She wants to ask another question and knows she should -- knows something is seriously wrong here, and that she should be making it right. Natalie is so warm, though, pressed close and breathing hot on her throat, and instead of pulling away to stop, they're moving faster before Dana has even realized it. Blue light starts to sweep over them, more people are nudging Dana's back, and Natalie's hips clash with hers until they're moving backward through the crowd.

Dana feels something solid behind her and tilts her head to peer down at it. It's about three feet tall, gray-blue with a dusting of what might be silver glitter, and looks like some sort of small stage. There's a little fountain in its center that's shooting up plumes of water, shining from within with muted white light, and this thing just has to be a special platform for dancers.

When she looks down, some of the glitter sparkles reflectively through Natalie's eyes, in a way that makes her look exotic, maybe even feral. Dana thinks they might have to ask permission to dance up there, but that sparkle tells her they're just going up. Now.

Natalie's fingers card through Dana's hair as she releases the grasp on her neck and grips the edge of the platform instead. Her foot hits Dana's shoulder and her thigh brushes against Dana's cheek as she clambers upward. Dana steps back in time to watch Natalie slide across the surface of the platform on her stomach. She clears her throat and puts a hand up, catching Natalie's. She boosts herself off the floor, worrying she's going to just fall back down on her ass and spend the rest of the night wincing, but, Jesus, Natalie is stronger than she'd ever thought, because she's already sprawled next to Natalie, and it's not her butt that's sore.

She presses her cheek to the cool platform, which is a little damp from what Dana will only assume is spray from the fountain, and she waits for Natalie to open her eyes. It doesn't happen until Dana has taken about six deep breaths, so when it finally does, she already has her mouth conveniently open to talk.

"Hey, listen, do you really want to stay? Maybe we should --"

"We should _dance_ , Dana. I'm at this club -- _we're_ at this club -- that I've wanted to come to since the day it opened; we're both young, fun people; the music is good; and I want to dance." Her voice is like a cat's tongue, hot and wet and rough in Dana's ear.

Dana gets Natalie's hand and lifts her upright, because she's strong too, and says, "So let's dance."

Natalie's smile flashes as her head swings on her shoulders. She still has one hand entwined with Dana's, and she grabs Dana's other hand, bringing their bodies together as she starts moving. Her dance is so close and heavy, almost a shared pulse, or overlapping crashes like water in the fountain behind them.

Dana flinches when her shoulder jars Natalie's upraised chin. Natalie shifts in closer and doesn't meet her eyes, just dances harder and faster against Dana. Wisps of Natalie's hair keep hitting her. She swipes at them, and Natalie pushes it impatiently aside. Natalie's breasts are already pressed tightly and shifting against her own, but Dana moves her hands to fold around Natalie's gyrating hips.

The smoke is thicker up here, and the blue seems darker instead of brighter. Dana opens her mouth to suck in air that coats her lungs with fire. It scalds, scraping her raw inside and out. Every time her body collides and rubs against Natalie's, even through the layers of their clothing, Dana's nerves singe and tingle in response. They're on display and towering over everyone, dripping sweat between their breasts and down their legs and onto the lucky commoners below.

She drops Natalie in an extravagant dip, and on the way back up, Natalie's arm swings out to pull through the fountain's spray, flinging cool mist on them.

The music changes to a disco song she can vaguely recognize from a time when disco was supposed to be cool. She automatically laughs into Natalie's ear, which seems to cause a burst of heated air at her neck.

Dana leans back, finally, and is still laughing as she calls out, "I'm going to go see if I can get them to play 'Boogie Shoes'!" Okay, so she's not drunk, no blue things are involved aside from the flashing lights, and the song has been unpopular for longer than she'd like to admit, but . . . 

But Natalie is shaking her head and skimming her hands up and down Dana's arms as if they're standing outside where the sweat won't keep their skin slick and hot. The "No" from Natalie's mouth slams into Dana just as Natalie's hips hit hers, hard.

Both should have forced her away. Dana doesn't move back so much as forward, tossing her arms up and pressing against Natalie from the shoulders down, and she sways to this disco beat.

She looks down and offers what she knows, in better light, would be a plaintive smile. "Don't you like my dancing?"

"I like it just fine." Natalie's lips are almost on her ear, and Dana thinks that's the only way Natalie can talk in her usual simple, frank tone with all this noise. There's an edge to her voice, though, like maybe she should have had a drink by now. "I just don't want you wandering off to climb up on some other table to dance. I want you to stay right here and dance with me on my platform in this _very_ fine club."

Dana somehow missed the point at which they relinquished thoughts of those half-drunk, nicely random and uncomplicated guys. She has no idea what Natalie's priorities are here or when they might have changed. For all she knows, every celebrity in the world could be hanging out in the party below, and it wouldn't matter.

She's in the middle of an ocean with a best friend who might need to be drunk and who is asking something amazingly simple. She puts both arms around Natalie's neck and holds her so close that they're probably sharing breath when she talks again. "You got it."

The fan sends another wave of smoke reeling over them. They move together, closer to the fountain. The smoke follows and clings, and the lights overhead blink like giant, sleepy eyes while the music changes, again and again, and they just keep moving. They never stop to climb down and get anything to drink, which doesn't surprise Dana somehow.

Sometimes she'll halt their dance long enough to cup her hand and bring water from the fountain to her lips and to Natalie's. Natalie has licked her palm a couple of times now. This isn't a complication -- not yet. All Dana has to do is rub her hand along Natalie's side and feel the damp shirt against her, and she can't remember what just happened.

When Natalie's fingers slide up Dana's back, when her thigh fits between Dana's and forces them back into the dance, nothing else is happening anyway.

Time itself isn't happening, or doesn't start happening again until they're half-stumbling out the doors of the club. Awaiting a taxi, Dana winds her arm around Natalie's waist. Dana has to lean in closer to get the passenger door open for them, and she realizes that she loves the moon. It makes Natalie's hair glow like midnight in winter. When Natalie bumps their shoulders together, Dana follows her into the car. Everything beyond this backseat, alit with warmth where their fingers keep entangling, is a blur as their taxi races the moonlight across town.

Dana thinks that might be really, really fast, because they're already at her apartment and inside and pulling clothes off. Midnight is a person right there with Dana, and time has gone insane. Shirt hanging from one arm, she pushes the door shut, and Natalie pushes her against it. Dana's lips spread for a gasp. Natalie gulps it down with a sweep of her tongue, as if Dana's mouth holds a fountain waterfall. Her fingers slide around Dana's neck.

Dana cups Natalie's elbows to draw her back, step by step, to the bedroom. The satin bra hits the floor like an azure shower. Natalie strips entirely but doesn't let Dana take off the rest of her own clothing. She keeps kissing Dana like she's been dehydrated for hours and now wants to drown instead, and she runs her hands up and down Dana's body while she peels away layers. Natalie's fingers never pause in one place long enough for Dana to feel more than a tickle. That makes her miss the club, but she still feels the heat they made there. It pours through Natalie's fingertips, tongue, and full naked press against Dana as they step backward through Dana's bedroom door.

She looks over her shoulder to gauge the distance to the bed but doesn't stop before reaching it. The edge of the bed hits the backs of her knees, and Dana lets herself fall, pulling Natalie down with her. She leans away just to look at Natalie, flat on the bed between Dana's bracing arms. Even with other buildings in the way, a streak of moonlight slices from her window, so she shifts enough for Natalie to lie in it. She nods appreciatively and strokes Natalie's arms with the pad of her thumb. She's going to drink in Natalie's skin, the way Natalie is drinking in her mouth.

Into Natalie's hair, along her cheeks and jaw, around her neck, over her shoulders and down, wherever Dana can reach, she does. Her fingertips tease and pinch, and her palms rub after to leave blushing paths among all the frosty, pale streaks.

Natalie groans and pulls back, moving her lips fast, all over Dana's body, biting almost as often as she's licking and sucking. Her mouth lingers at Dana's shoulders, the sides of her breasts, her hips, and the line that goes straight down from the hollowed pulse point at the base of Dana's neck, around and moistly hot against her belly button, to the triangle of hair where her legs meet.

Natalie seems frantic, just on the edge of anger, but Dana is still cool, calm, and collected -- until Natalie's tongue slides into her. Then she's arching up against Natalie's soft mouth, so smooth on her slit with no mustache like Sam's, and she thinks about telling Natalie that but doesn't, just moans on one long breath. Her heartbeat is throbbing in her ears like a wet drum. Natalie isn't "ragged" or "dirty" or anything else like Sam is, except maybe a little bit on the crazy side -- all of which, Dana decides, doesn't have anything to do with this.

This is a long, testosterone-soaked day coiled tight like a spring in her stomach. This is sweat that comes from both of them and makes them slick where they rub together, everywhere. This is Natalie's tongue and Natalie's damp fingers sliding up and down her thighs with sharp, bared nails like teeth.

Dana slides around until she can reach Natalie's mound, and she presses the heel of her hand down hard against it, grinding the same way their bodies did at the club. Natalie's still working Dana with her tongue, and now Dana's coming quietly, because it's not that she can't breathe, she just _won't_.

She keeps moving her own hand harder and tighter and pushing her thumb against the nub beneath it. Dana watches when Natalie comes, because she looks like an earthquake, all shaking edges and crumbling curves, on the verge of cracking but never quite falling, while her mouth vibrates against Dana's clit.

Dana finally has to twist away so that she doesn't scream. She quickly flicks her tongue across Natalie's lips. It's barely a kiss, barely anything other than a sticky, wet pause within a night that has been hidden out of time.

They don't cuddle either. There are just a few moments wherein they lie next to each other on their backs and pant out empty, scripted lines about nothing that has just happened.

"Jeremy was being a dick about going to Lot 61," Natalie says. Her voice sounds thick and full, but the words sound empty.

Dana frowns and turns her head toward Natalie's. Natalie looks out the window, and Dana looks at tiny refractions of moonlight in her hair. She slides her hand onto the pillow, brushing the very tips of her fingers through the light and dark of Natalie's hair. She wants to be able to see the exact place where moonlight slices through each bit of shadow and changes everything.

"Sam says he's going away," she offers, even though she mentioned that idea hours ago.

Natalie doesn't move. "Men suck."

She pulls her hand back and wraps her arms around herself. They lie there without saying anything else. The fact remains that neither of them is going anywhere -- except Natalie. She gets up and gets dressed, and she's out the door with an almost shaky goodbye before her space in the bed has even started to get cold.

Dana has to go to the door after her, just to turn the lock. Her hand catches on the doorknob, which fills her grip and nothing else.

Her toothpaste tastes sour enough in her mouth that Dana checks the expiration date on the tube. It doesn't tell her anything she didn't already know. She cracks open her bedroom window and slaps off the light switch on her return trip to the bed.

Flopping down, she rolls onto her back to stare at the clean, blank ceiling. The sheets are damp and cool against her skin, and tiny hairs all over her body are rising, protesting the breeze moving across it. Dana still smells cigarettes and alcohol and a public display of something. Sleep offers a quick reprieve.

*-*-*

She and Natalie both get into her office at the same time the next day. Dana wants to sit down behind her desk, but Natalie's fingers are tight around the clipboard she's picking up, and Dana doesn't even know where to start. Natalie seems to have figured it out, though.

"Look, Dana." Her hands clench more, which Dana pretends not to notice. The same goes for the way Natalie has just bitten her lip and unconsciously licked at the spot. "We . . . "

Dana waits a minute and glances at her chair. Her legs have the consistency of fruit-flavored gelatin right now. "Yeah?"

Natalie backs toward the open door. "We have a couple of big story possibilities for the tens and twenties already. I tried to call Dan and Casey in early, but they're claiming some rule involving ancient Greece and late afternoon sporting events." She holds up a hand before Dana even thinks of the question. "Don't ask, because I don't know, and I don't want to know. But they're not coming in until they absolutely have to, and if they have to _now_ , then you're going to be the one to make them. I need to talk to Elliot about graphics. Oh, and Sam wants to see you."

She knows Natalie has left -- again -- but can't make herself look away from the empty doorway. Trying to talk to Sam about the show or about anything at all makes her even more confused, and it just worsens over the next couple days. So does everything else.

*-*-*

Natalie snaps at her and gets increasingly cranky. She tells Dana flat out that she's being bothersome, and Dana can't get her alone long enough even to figure out whose fault that is. Thanks to Jeremy, she finally finds out that he and Natalie have broken up. He doesn't provide details, but she doesn't want them from him anyway. Unfortunately, Natalie's idea of explanation is to say "Whatever" a lot and tell Dana pretty much nothing but _off_.

She reaches a point when she just switches to autopilot, when she's chuckling and unsure with Natalie and Sam and probably Casey too, because he's been the default for her uncertainty for a long time. She laughs a lot -- probably too much -- to cover her confusion. But at least some of her laughter is real around Casey. Dan's skill at mocking him and his sunglasses gives her some relief from all the tension and emotional insanity.

One of the times she's in their office, Dana claims that she'll be glad to see Sam go. In a way it's true, because he is most definitely a complication and because she knows, regardless of what she's been told, Natalie is hurting right now. Most of Natalie's expressions in her presence are shuttered, but sometimes Dana catches Natalie giving her an expectant look -- like she should be doing or saying something differently.

Dana, herself, is pretty certain that she should be doing or saying something differently. She has been completely unable to get Natalie to open up about what happened with Jeremy. She's starting to feel like the Ice Queen that some of the people in graphics see her as. So she ends up planting a kiss on Sam, who can't wait to get away from her. His mustache, the one that she told Isaac irked her, tickles her mouth, and she wants to laugh yet again. She's also really tempted to tell Sam that he steals her breath but that Natalie fills it, shares it.

For the most part, Dana keeps her mouth closed both during the kiss and afterward. Her breathlessness comes out like happy excitement, which she tries to encourage in herself. She practically begs him to stay, because at least he's a complication that she thinks she understands. He says, "Okay," and that's a nice change from what Natalie's been saying to her, especially with that blow-up over surrendering their crowd footage to the police.

To celebrate the positive response, Dana orders a strawberry cake from this new place a few blocks away, a good bakery that closes early in the afternoon but opens again late at night to start baking for the next day. She checks her purse to make sure she'll have the money to cover it and heads to the control room.

*-*-*

During the show, two unexpected things happen. Natalie asks if they can talk afterward, and Isaac stops by with an apologetic expression. He leans over her shoulder, hands tight around his cane, and waits for Dana to cover her microphone.

When she does, he says, "Would you step into the hallway with me? It'll just take a minute, and Natalie's here." The last sentence is spoken like a reassurance on more levels than she can count.

"Sure." She looks around anyway on an uncontrollable impulse and then follows him out.

He and Sam are friends, and he doesn't miss much, especially since she's been babbling to him, about Sam and anything else, for a while now. All of that is translated to her in a single expression before Isaac says a word. Dana crosses her arms and waits.

"Listen, Dana. Sam asked me to tell you something."

She leans against the closed control room door. "He can't just tell me himself when we have cake?"

"He asked me to be the one to tell you. Something came up."

Dana thinks she knows what came up; this must have been another of what she's taken to calling her Accidental Relationship Homicide Kisses. She starts to ask anyway. "What --"

"Sam needed to catch a plane immediately. He had to leave, and he only had the chance to tell me because I happened to be on my way back to my office as he was headed for the elevators. He asked me to apologize for the way things are."

"Well, that's silly," she says, because it is. It's silly to apologize for the way things are or the way they might have been.

Isaac has tried to break the news gently, and she's only a little surprised at how soft the blow feels. He studies her for a moment.

She shrugs. "Thank you." If nothing else, she's grateful to have found out before she'd told anyone besides Natalie to stay for cake.

"You're welcome." He clasps her shoulder briefly and walks away. Dana goes back in to finish producing her show.

*-*-*

When they've wrapped, the control room empties quickly. She and Natalie stand up but don't leave. They look at each other and wait until everyone is gone.

"You wanted to talk, right?" Dana asks gently. "We should talk first."

"Yes, we should."

The office environment hasn't been helping them over the past few days. It isn't the best option for this. "Do you want to go out somewhere? Or maybe --"

She's about to suggest that they go to Natalie's apartment, thinking it might make Natalie feel more comfortable, but Natalie cuts her off. "No cake?"

"Not yet. We'll have it later."

"Okay." Natalie sways a little, like a slow dance or the prelude to a structural collapse. "Why did you only offer to talk about Jeremy before? Why didn't you say that I could talk to you about _us_?"

Trying to hold Natalie's gaze, Dana rests her hand on the back of her chair. "I wasn't sure that you _could_ talk to me about us. I wasn't sure that I could talk to you about us either. I wasn't even sure it had anything to do with me."

"I'm sorry," Natalie says. She loosely covers Dana's hand with her own.

"I'm sorry too." Dana can't figure out at first whether this is the beginning or the end of their talk.

"Could we go back to your place?"

That doesn't answer the question, but it's certainly a good sign.

"Sure," she says, and so they go.

*-*-*

She detours them to the bakery for the strawberry cake, now for a party of two, and Natalie cradles it on her lap on the subway. When they get to Dana's apartment, they sit across from each other at the dinette table, with the cake and a lot of space between them. Jeremy is discussed briefly -- only long enough for Dana to hear some bare details and to feel guilty because Natalie fell apart with Isaac instead of with her -- and then once again labeled "He-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named."

Dana's face itches with the tightness of dry tears, and she feels sure that Natalie's would too, if she hadn't washed her face in the station bathroom while the credits were rolling. Instead, Natalie has that look back in her eyes like she's waiting for something from Dana.

Dana says, "Sam is gone."

"I'm through with He-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named." There's a slight quaver to Natalie's bottom lip. Dana wants to lick it.

She leans back in her chair, away from Natalie. "So we are both now, officially, on the rebound."

"So we are," Natalie says. "And I think that means something."

Dana fights the urge to cross her arms and tuck her hands into the crooks of her elbows. "It does? What does it mean?"

"I think it means that the situation is distinctly less unfair to both of us than it would be if only one of us were rebounding." Natalie leans forward. "It means that we both know what we're getting into."

Dana leans forward again too, and she picks idly at the edges of the cake, swiping some pink frosting and licking it from her fingertip to give herself a moment to think. She tears off a small chunk of the cake and offers it to Natalie. She doesn't try to clarify what exactly they're getting into, just agrees. "You're right. This is much more fair to us."

They feed the cake to each other in wet, crumbly pieces. Dana pushes her fingers in and out over the surface of Natalie's tongue, and curls the fingers of her free hand through the messy waves in Natalie's hair. Neither of them cries, but Natalie's sticky palm sweeps over Dana's cheeks anyway.

Dana grabs her hand and licks it with broad strokes that make Natalie tremble -- no earthquakes now, just tremors so low on the Richter scale, they wouldn't register with anyone but her. Natalie smiles like the sky clearing after a storm, and Dana traces disappearing clouds over Natalie's denim shirt. It is the sea-swept hue of the club lights, shifting and alive.

\- end - 


End file.
